


To Have Loved and Lost

by VigilanteFlower



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, London Spy, SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Sex, Angst, Danny Holt is a younger Q, Deceased Alex, Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, more tags will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilanteFlower/pseuds/VigilanteFlower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond knows very little of the young Quartermaster's story, but after receiving a blunt dismissal of his questioning, he decides his own personal mission is to find out what events lead to Q meeting him in the art gallery that day. What he thinks will be a fun challenge of wits, may reveal that Q is more aware of the dark underbelly of espionage than James had anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Question

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in many years and I have so utterly fallen for Bond and Q that I've been itching to write something for them. Then I ended up watching episodes 1 through 3 of London Spy and was so devastated by the events that played out in Danny and Alex's story that I decided to weave the two stories together and give at least Danny a second chance with James. What's funny is I don't usually like crossovers OR angsty fics, and yet here I am! I hope to provide fans of London Spy with a little more closure, while also pleasing those who enjoy the dynamic between Bond and Q. I only have a rough plan for this one at the moment, but it will definitely be a bit lengthy, so hope you stick around for further chapters!

Q’s hands played deftly along the smooth, multi coloured wires hanging from the ceiling of his lab. He followed them up and skipped over the zip ties that kept each bundle of rubber-coated strands from getting ensnared in the batch that took up a place as its neighbor. The problem with them going all the way up to the ceiling was that, despite being of a decent height, he needed a chair, if not a ladder, to reach them. A huff of frustration caused the corners of his mouth to pinch as he dropped the wires, pausing in his pursuit of the issue and placing a fist on each hip, tucking inside his blazer to do so. His brows, which usually stood further apart than most peoples, came together in a very noticeable furrow. 

“Q.” Came the familiar and succinct greeting of MI6’s most notorious agent. It caused the Quartermaster to snap out of his concentrated state, hands flying out in what appeared to be a mockery of some kind of defensive swing that only resulted in the silent settling of his blazers lapels back where they should be. 

“Bond.” He greeted in return. There was a minute bit of relief evident in his tone, considering that the agent had startled him. In their particular profession, anyone sneaking up on someone could very well mean the death of at least one party involved. 

The Quartermaster relaxed as he noticed a cheeky twitch to his coworker’s lips, meaning Bond had noticed his slight fright, not that it was hard to. The older man looked dapper as always in his fashionable, perfectly fitted suit and matching Oxfords. His idle posture always saw his hands in pockets above a wide set stance, holding his chin slightly higher than an average bloke on the tube would. It always commanded attention and exuded confidence, but those were things Q really needed no reminder of when it came to Bond. The agent broke his signature pose and strode over to the Quartermaster, who was wondering what Bond’s purpose was for visiting. Q was sure he would find out soon enough, even if the answer was nothing in particular.

Bond’s eyes kept the younger man’s locked to his own as he finished bridging the gap, and then let his gaze follow along the cables to the point where they disappeared along the top of a steel support. “What are you up to down here?” It was a simple question that certainly lead Q to believe Bond was only visiting to kill time with conversation, or worse, find something to occupy himself with. Sometimes a bored Bond resulted in far too many of his prototypes going missing while his back was turned.

Q took his own glance up at the ceiling and let out another hefty shot of air through his nose, chest deflating rapidly. “Well, you see the other day I knew I would be here for quite some time, so I brought my cats with me. But of course, instead of behaving and taking advantage of the beds I put next to the heater for them, they decided finding a way into the rafters was the best way to spend an afternoon. Today I noticed two of the cables slipping down from there and I’m more than a little certain one of them chewed through something.” He looked incredibly perturbed by the whole thing. It wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend a day at work, and he was hoping to get it fixed before having to explain to Mallory that maybe bringing his pets to work wasn’t the best idea in the world. 

“So now here I am, trying to sort it out.” Q tossed his arms out in defeat and let them come down with a muffled smack on each thigh as he turned towards his desk.

Bond made a small hum of interest as he quarter turned to keep an eye on the wandering inventor. “I suppose they’re lucky you aren’t one to keep grudges against furry companions.” It was the kind of pleasant small talk he enjoyed most with the intelligent young man, light and somewhat teasing. He took a seat on one of the stools situated on the wrong side of the Quartermaster’s worktop, hooking a heel onto a high rung and dropping one hand from a pocket to rest on his knee. Q’s eyes flicked up from his laptop where he had been trying to figure out which cables might have been compromised. Somehow, even scrunched up, Bond’s suit managed to look perfectly neat and entirely too handsome. Q’s eyes returned quickly to the backlit screen.

He saw a verbal opportunity and decided to take it. “Yes, well, tamper with or take any more of my prototypes and we will see if that kindness extends to meddlesome agents, won’t we?” He raised his whole face this time, adjusting his glasses with a perfectly flat expression. Bond was known for having an infallible poker face, but if Q played poker at all, he would likely have a reputation for the same thing. 

A grin slipped onto Bond’s lips and he made a visible attempt at tucking it away, but the deepening of the smile lines at each corner of his eyes gave it away.

“But I like to know what you’re working on, Quartermaster. It could end up in my pocket some day.” Bond really was too handsy with the geniuses toys and they usually ended up in said pockets long before they should. The few times he had been caught, the Quartermaster had easily slipped in and apprehended his device with a simple and curt order not to touch anything else. Bond was disgracefully bad at listening to orders, if anything he took it as a challenge. He would pocket the smaller gadgets and watch from afar as Q shuffled items across his desk, head swiveling around until he called out in a mild panic to his minions, asking if they had seen it.

“The other employees in Q Branch are going to start thinking I’ve gone senile if I ask where I’ve left something one more time. Please do not make people question my mental stability just because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” His slight but disapproving scowl hit it’s target, but did not have the intended effect as James merely smiled and leaned forward, placing his forearms on a sliver of available desk space and interlocking his fingers. 

Q decided that instead of engaging more of Bond’s silly need for entertainment, he would give the double-oh the cold shoulder and tuck into his previous adventure; finding the chewed up cables. He grabbed the back of a chair, without wheels of course, and positioned it below the place where he hoped to find the problem. He then hiked his trousers up enough to show off his uniquely patterned socks and stepped on up. Bond caught sight of them and raised a brow. They were atrocious, but very endearing. Q’s blazer lifted away from his hips as the lanky man reached between the rafters and got back to work, he didn’t have an afternoon to waste entertaining a bored agent after all.

Bond took this time to simply observe the Quartermaster, watching the rise of the fabric and the way his heels lifted just a centimeter or two off the stained wooden seat. They were alone right now, all the other Q Branchers busy in the main gala, and it gave Bond reason to pause and think about his interactions with the younger man, ever since they had first met in front of that painting of the old warship being dragged off for scrap.

While Bond’s first impression had been to dismiss his competence due to an obvious lack of age, and therefore assumed inexperience, the genius Quartermaster had more than proven himself since taking on the position. With how he had handled Silva’s invasion of their systems and the subsequent power shift afterward, it was enough to make Bond believe they had chosen the right person for the job. 

There was a certain amount of melancholy that came with his next thought. After M’s passing, there were many people who treated him like a broken man, even in just subtle ways, and it had been infuriating. He was very much a person that needed to either carry on like everything was fine and throw himself into his work, or at least find a new normal. Q had been one of the few people to help him achieve that. He had looked at James with that firm, stoic expression, given his condolences in a way that sounded nothing like a standard greeting card but was about as concise, and then promptly informed him that he would not be coddling him during his next mission. Apparently, that would only be sure to cause more problems than would naturally occur with James being involved. It had quite honestly made him feel much better, and perhaps even a smile cracked his face that day. Though, there was a part of him that later realized perhaps Q needed to find normalcy just as much as he did.

As time passed, they had become quite good at coordinating missions together. Bond out in the field, Q feeding him intel and directions that had saved him on more than one occasion. Of course, more than a few of those discussions consisted of an unusually dry (and sometimes borderline flirtatious) style of sarcasm. He expected the minions enjoyed listening to their unconventional banter. 

Then when he had to go awol in order to hunt down Spectre, Q had put his career on the line yet again, and more seriously than before. He had believed in Bond. Since then, he had been informed that Q had put himself into something akin to a drug induced coma in order to get to 007 and to halfheartedly threaten him into returning. He had done that instead of risking communicating with him and being found by C. It was not until Mallory questioned the difficulty of breaking into and destroying all that C had built that Bond realized how much he now trusted the Quartermaster’s abilities. It was much like he had trusted in Bond’s when announcing there may be some problems with the blood trackers within the first twenty-four- no, forty-eight hours. 

Since then, things had carried on very much the same, getting used to each other and chatting frequently, along with a bit of office place fun on Bond’s part (he still had at least five of Q’s prototypes in his flat). What made him curious, and curiosity really was one of his most dangerous traits, was how little he really knew about MI6’s new Quartermaster. Everything he understood of the man had been from the time they met, until now. And really, in the business of spies, that wasn’t a particularly good spot to be in with those you worked with. While he knew where Mallory, Moneypenny, Tanner, and even Susan the security guard that worked late on weekdays came from, he had no idea about Q. 

It occurred to him that the reason for this was very likely that Q did not want him to know. Bond couldn’t really argue with that too much because he wasn’t particularly fond of people knowing about his history either. The difference was, Bond had no problem being an invasive twat when something caught his interest. He was honestly surprised with himself for not venturing into Q’s past before. The man was endlessly intriguing with all his subtle lethality and shockingly clean hands. 

It was at that precise moment in time that said discretely dangerous man yelped and yanked back his hand, flapping it back and forth as he aimed a vicious glare at an exposed wire. “Found it at least. Can’t say it was happy to see me though.” He sighed and got down from the chair with a small hop, heading to a stack of filing baskets tucked under his desk and filled with a collection of tapes and adhesives, retrieving some simple electrical tape. The little scene had done a good job of bringing James out of his lengthy train of thought. 

As Q headed back to his chair, Bond lifted his chin, brows lowering quizzically. “Q, what did you used to do before coming to MI6?” He elected to try the straightforward approach first, it might save him a lot of time if Q was actually willing to chat about his life before MI6 and simply hadn’t had an opportunity to do so yet.

His rather optimistic inquiry was quickly dashed against some decidedly icy rocks, as Q wasted no time in shutting him down like a discarded laptop. 

“If you would kindly refrain from inquiring about my life before meeting me, that would be much appreciated.” He didn’t even spare James a look as he tore off a piece of electrical tape with his teeth and set to wrapping the wires up, making it safer to remove and replace them.

Bond couldn’t say the response was entirely unexpected. Q had always seemed like a rather private person, but the aloof dismissal was more of a challenge to Bond, than any kind of deterrent. The double-oh spun around on the stool to face his busy Quartermaster’s back across the room. 

“Let me guess then.” James had pieced together what he believed to be a rather solid interpretation of how Q had become the person he was today. His job was made up of many useful skills, one of which was reading people, and reading into people as well. There were always signs of who they were, what they did, where they came from, and most importantly what they wanted, but that wasn’t a necessary component right now. 

The blond man folded his hands loosely over a knee, leaning back to look at the ceiling as he slotted together what he could of the bespectacled genius’s personal story. “Your parents were well to do, not excessively so, but you didn’t grow up wanting. You showed a lot of promise intellectually as a small child so they put you through some private school or tutoring program that nurtured your keen abilities for manipulating and creating technology.” 

He looked over at Q, expecting to see some kind of indication on the younger man’s face of how right he was getting things, he was feeling rather confident about his interpretations. But Q was still taping wires, not even looking his way, so James continued. 

“You have a practiced aloofness, and a stoic demeanor matched with a sharp wit. I’d wager that’s the result of you holding your nose a little too high in front of your peers and finding ways to deal with it. Perhaps you told them you’d grow up to be their boss one day, and now here you are, proving that right.” Bond chuckled, picturing a smaller version of the Quartermaster saying such things. “I’d say you were involved in some kind of security based profession before this, maybe making custom security systems for wealthy people with things to hide, or maybe involved with some less than savory group of hackers. I know MI6 is no stranger to turning a blind eye to minor offenses when hiring good people.” 

Bond felt a little put out. The entire time he was posing his theories, Q was acting as if he weren’t even in the room. He’d expected at least some kind of attention or indicator of his accuracy, but instead his acknowledgment was as chilly as his earlier response. Q made no attempt to retort as he jumped off the chair again and made his way over to the workstation, tapping the space bar on his laptop to wake it back up. 

He didn’t make eye contact with the agent until he finally spoke, premising his words with a bored and somewhat annoyed sigh. This really wasn’t his day. So many frustrating things to deal with and now an overly nosy double-oh was trying to show off to him in all the wrong ways. 

"While I’m sure you think yourself quite skilled in such matters of deduction, I’m afraid you are wrong on all counts, and I have absolutely zero desire to inform you of anything beyond that.” He looked back down at the table and began collecting items necessary for safely removing the damaged wires and putting in new ones.

Bond rarely found himself at a loss for words, but he was just as rarely told he was completely and utterly wrong about something he almost always got right, or at least somewhat right. But here Q was saying he hadn’t hit a single nail, all misses. Well that was a little…jarring. It didn’t take James long to recover, but an uncomfortable feeling still rested in his chest. He managed not to let it show on his face. He regrettably thought it might have come out in his prolonged silence though.

As he opened his mouth to say something (he wasn’t sure what), Q cut him off. The Quartermaster’s hands were braced a good distance away from either side of his body on the edge of the table and he’d shifted his weight forward, chin lifted in a challenging manor to his well dressed companion. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a system to get back up and running, so I won’t be able to entertain you any longer 007. Have a nice day.” And with that he bundled up his tools in his arms and returned to his position on the chair, hands immediately diving into the mess of wires.

James couldn’t remember receiving such a thorough and absolute dismissal since the days of M. His little visit to the Quartermaster had by no means gone as planned today and he wasn’t sure if he was offended or impressed. Either way, it seemed that if he kept talking, he really would be ignored this time. He slid off the stool and neatly adjusted his cuff links before giving a moment’s pause to eye up the Quartermaster. If he was really that wrong, and Q was really that against telling him, then Bond was determined to crack him. It might take some time and more than a little of his more manipulative tendencies, but he would get his answers. A curious agent was a hazardous one when it came to keeping secrets.

“Good luck with your cat’s new snacks, Q.” He stated clearly, only receiving a hum in reply, as a pair of wire cutters were firmly held between Q’s teeth. It was better than nothing, so Bond accepted it and left the office. 

The gears were well-oiled and turning in 007’s head as he made his way off to get an early lunch. He would find out more about the mysterious Quartermaster, whether the man was entirely willing or not.


	2. Black Ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everyone~ Chapter two is here, we're making our way towards the good stuff slowly but surely.

Before being pulled away from MI6 for a mission that landed him in Bangladesh for two weeks, Bond had spent his free time trying to hunt down some information on where his intriguing Quartermaster had originated. It was a search that yielded exactly zero results. While that wouldn’t be particularly surprising to anyone else, this was extremely puzzling to James. Over the past several years of working for MI6 he had figured out exactly whose passwords he needed to know in order to do a personal background check on any employee he saw fit. He didn’t tend to bother with those in higher positions, such as Q’s, because they had to jump through so many hoops to get there that they did not worry him at such a level. 

The passwords were no help, not even Mallory’s computer had given him anything. It wasn’t that the files on Q’s background were under some kind of encryption; they were not there at all. Just to make sure something wasn’t amiss, James had searched up Moneypenny’s, Tanner’s, and even his own files. Everything was where it should be. Not a word on the Quartermaster. He couldn’t’ even find the man’s real name. He’d once managed to find M’s, and if anyone’s information should have been hard to find, it was hers!

As Bond had gone through the motions of what was a relatively successful mission, his mind kept returning to the moment he had leaned back in Mallory’s chair and realized that there was far more to Q then he had ever realized. The chase was going to be so satisfying now that he knew the answers were going to be much harder to find.

Bond had boiled the situation down to two possible reasons for the missing files. One was that with all of Q’s expertise, he had simply wiped himself from the system, but then why would he do that? Perhaps he didn’t fully trust MI6’s security with his own information, or maybe it was some kind of line of defence if someone were to steal MI6’s files. The other possibility was that M or Mallory had consciously locked away the Quartermaster’s past, hidden it from prying eyes. Bond suspected the Quartermaster would have had a hand in making sure they stayed off any kind of database then. So why might that have happened? A possible option was that he had been a criminal in his past and MI6 didn’t want people knowing they had a villain of some sort working for them. Or maybe it contained something so unpleasant that even MI6 wanted it buried away, though for whose sake that might be, James couldn’t say. 

When he finally arrived home from Bangladesh, he’d at least come up with a notion of where to look next. It relied heavily on the idea that Q was probably so focused on the vulnerability of digital files, that he forgot about the physical ones. After all, there was a point in time when espionage was built on paper files with too much information, instead of codes and hard drives. He was banking on the hope that there were still enough people working in MI6 that had been around since the good ol’ days of simply burning a manila envelope and being done with it. 

By the time 007 finally found what he was looking for, a total of 5 weeks had passed since first deciding to take on this surprisingly ambitious endeavour. A rather unexpected lead, courtesy of a fine young lady in the human resources department, directed him to an unused room attached to the office of the current head of HR. Apparently, the previous head had only retired the year prior and the pretty red head he’d been speaking with had the unfortunate task of transcribing and scanning old documents into digital records from the ancient looking filing cabinets lining the walls. That sounded like a jackpot to James, until he coaxed the woman into letting him inside with her to poke around the heavy office furniture and realized it could take years to get through. A few artfully placed touches and promising looks from the double oh had her scurrying out, feeling a bit more confident about herself, with a blush on her freckled cheeks. 

Thankfully, upon taking a closer look, James discovered that the previous head of HR had created a masterful filing system that was no more complicated than a library to sift through. It wasn’t long before he’d reached a collection comprised of resumes and background checks for potential new hires that had actually gotten the job. Due to a tendency for people in MI6 to not go by their real names, the catalogue was done by department, and then position, so finding Q for Quartermaster hadn’t been a hard task. 

James felt a triumphant surge as he pulled out a file that was finally a step in the right direction for his personal investigation. He turned and sat with his back against the neighbouring filing cabinet, opening up the folder to the first page. 

As the blue eyed man flipped through each document of the hefty file, his vigour slowly dissipated. Despite the files impressive girth, he was going through pages very quickly, because almost everything was blacked out. When he looked at some of the page numbers, it brought light to the fact that entire sheets of information were missing from the bundles. 

Bond’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, an extremely uncommon feeling for the agent, as he realized with disturbing clarity that even his own file didn’t look like this. It was now finally hitting him that what he had first thought of as a fun way to pick on his Quartermaster and pass time between assignments was a true mystery. 

Bond paused mid flip of a significantly blacked out page and brought his eyes up to stare absently at the opposing cabinet, in all it’s army green, stoic glory. He settled the page with its companions silently, not giving it another moments glance for now.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He was standing at the edge of the rabbit hole, staring into the tumbling abyss of questions and inquiries he was now convinced the Quartermaster, and likely many others, did not want him to know about. How far over the edge could he lean before falling head over heals into the mess of a man’s past? Unfortunately, Bond had a special knack for being too curious and all together too annoying in his pursuit of answers. He’d just try not to wind up completely on the Quartermaster’s bad side by the end of this.

He returned his attention to the file in his lap and shuffled through it more tediously, picking out what snippets of information he could from amidst the mass of black ink. A few things seemed to still be there, but it wasn’t much to go on. Someone had been very thorough in taking care of this file after Q had been hired, and he couldn’t blame them, because here he was giving them a reason for their actions. The only light being shed was by a few lines that lead James to believe there was reason for a cover up by MI6, and that there was at least one person dead at the end of everything. Seeing as Q was very much alive and well, options were that Q had been involved in the murder of someone as either a criminal or a victim. With how messy everything looked on the stapled papers, he wasn’t willing to bet one way or the other. 

He supposed the next question was how he felt about possibly putting his life in the hands of a potential murderer who just so happened to be amazing enough to convince MI6 to cover something up for him? James didn’t have an answer for that yet either, but his gut told him that Q was not the murderous type. There were simply too many questions and not enough answers. So, he slid the file back into place and quietly ducked out of HR with a well-timed wink at the pretty red head.

His normal, stern expression had a light furrow to it as he made his way to Q Branch. It got a couple worried looks from employees who really preferred 007 be in the best mood possible. The information he’d gathered and the subsequent realization of how difficult and intriguing this whole thing was played over in his mind as he waltzed into the bullpen and claimed the single couch that rested between its comfy chair brothers at the back of the room. It had been put there for when Q’s minions needed to sleep but were unable wander too far from their workstations during the more turbulent missions. Right now it hosted a rather displeased but not unhappy double oh agent, a hand tucked behind his head while the other rested on his chest, and feet crossed at the ankle while his eyes met those of the busy Quartermaster at the head of the room.

Q’s eyes didn’t linger long on the powerful cerulean gaze before returning quietly to his work, which wasn’t especially dire at that moment. 

An hour passed, not a word transitioned between the pair, but as the Quartermaster went about his daily business, he could feel the heavy stare upon his back. It was something he met and challenged every once in a while, but the agent didn’t waver in the slightest. Eventually, Q noticed those under his charge were spending more time muttering about the intimidating man than paying attention to what they were supposed to be doing. Q tucked one fist against his hip beneath his monochromatic, plaid blazer, while the other lifted his glasses off the bridge of his nose and pressed firmly to relieve the building pressure of a headache.

The brunette readjusted his glasses and took a deep breath, setting his features, before marching down the length of the room and confidently crossing his arms over his chest, a hand gripping each bicep lightly. “Would you be so kind as to tell me why you have decided to tern my bullpen into your personal television? I assure you it is going to be exceptionally boring at nearly noon on a Thursday when you aren’t personally in the field.”

The two stayed where they were, in silence, eyes matched for several long and unsettling seconds, before 007 placed his feet on the floor and stood up smoothly. At his full height, he matched the lanky Quartermaster. 

“How about we do lunch?” The agent’s chin rose slightly as he spoke the invitation and slipped his hands into perfectly pressed pockets.

The Quartermaster’s head tilted a smidgen as his lips parted briefly, unspeaking. A long fingered hand came up and pointed towards the exit. 

“That…is a very strange request…have you really been laying here for the past hour just waiting to ask me out for a meal?”

Bond fixed a cuff link that was pressing into his wrist uncomfortably. 

“That, among other things. Is there something strange about asking a coworker to lunch? We do get along, don’t we?”

The younger man seemed as confused by the confirmation as he had been by the initial request. Another floundering flap of lips had him scolding himself for how ridiculously unattractive that must look. His pointed finger changed direction, this time towards his office.

“I’ll…just grab my coat.” With that, he turned and went to retrieve the warmer garment, leaving the blond by the plush couch. Q was very unsure of what had prompted this unexpected invitation, but he didn’t exactly have a reason to say no. James and him were colleagues that trusted each other and enjoyed each other’s company, except when Bond got bored and started doing things like distracting his charges. Then there was a slight bone to pick. But this was actually a way to alleviate that problem for the time being, so hopefully he would return to a productive bunch of Q branchers.

Q returned with his jacket and it was Bond’s turn to gesture silently to the lift, an action that prompted a pursed lip and nod of polite acknowledgment from the Quartermaster.  
Conversation was nonexistent for a while until the two got out onto the street. Despite the rocky start to their dinnertime excursion, the silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, there was just a little uncertainty hanging about them from Q’s perspective.

“How did the cable situation turn out for you?” Bond asked casually, and Q felt the minuscule tightness in his chest loosen. 

“Oh, that worked out fine. I just replaced the cables and reset a few things.” People trotted by the interesting pair on the sidewalk, also on their way to lunches at various restaurants on what was a typical day of patchy overcast for London. 

“Ah, that’s good. And the cats are fine?” The agent’s hands were tucked into his pockets again, neck occasionally twisting to get a look at his mysterious Quartermaster’s elegant profile. 

“Perfectly well. They don’t seem to have eaten anything they gnawed on. Thank you for asking.” Q was admittedly rather surprised and pleased with the double oh’s light concern for the well-being of his favourite household companions. He decided to return the gesture with a little friendly inquiry of his own.

“How are you and Madeline doing?” 

Q happened to choose that time to look at his partner and noticed the tight clenching of the muscles along his jaw. Ah. That was not a good question to ask apparently. But still, Bond responded.

“Madeline and I…aren’t seeing each other any more. Unfortunately, she was very adamant that I leave the business, and I was not as ready to do that as she would have liked. I believe she is back at work now.” Q knew that meant she was half way around the world again, and certainly not waiting at home for the MI6 operative.

“I’m…sorry to hear that.” He wanted to say something along the lines of ‘I thought she matched you well’ or ‘I thought she might have been the one for you’, but the thought made his gut twist horribly.

“Don’t be.” That demand was not entirely free of hurt, and Q caught it, so he decided to stay quiet for a little bit. It was best to let the agent stew for a few moments and get past it. He hadn’t thought Bond would steer the conversation where he did next.

“Are you seeing anyone, Quartermaster?” 

After a moment of initial shock, Q caught himself up with the conversation, which had suddenly gotten ahead of him. 

“No, I’m not. Dating…isn’t exactly my thing.” That hadn’t been the best response; in fact he really would like a do-over with the last two things that came out of his mouth. 

“Oh,” The double oh’s eyebrows rose slightly, because that was an interesting statement from the younger man, ”it isn’t your ‘thing’ is it? Have you ever dated?” Q adjusted the coat hanging from his shoulders, pulling it up closer to his exposed throat as he kept a neutral expression.

“Yes…” He didn’t like how this conversation was developing into an interrogation of his love life. That was perhaps a bit of a harsh assessment but it wasn’t exactly something he liked to discuss. Ever.

“When was the last time you had a girlfriend, Q?” The corner of Bond’s lips quirked upward, noticing the discomfort that was evident in the Quartermaster’s body language. Was he some kind of stud or prude in university and didn’t want the agent picking on him? Q did not look impressed any more.

“This is a bit invasive, don’t you think?” A light glare found it’s way from his features to Bond’s eyes.

“Actually, as you’ve demonstrated, asking about a friend’s relationship status is quite normal.” Q frowned because Bond was right, and he couldn’t help but notice it was the first time he’d heard 007 refer to him as a friend. 

“Well…alright, I haven’t, and there’s a very simple reason for that…” He gave the agent a pointed look, hoping the man would just understand, but if he did, he chose to arch a lightly coloured brow instead of showing his understanding. The Quartermaster looked straight ahead as he sighed and spoke matter-of-factly.

“I’m gay, Bond. Though that’s not really any of your business.” He looked off into the display windows of the shops opposite of his companion, whose other brow had risen to meet it’s pair. 

“If that is a problem for you, I would appreciate you not making a fuss and continuing to be professional with me at the very least.” The Quartermaster had experienced his fair share of homophobic abuse over the years, it wasn’t something he had patience for anymore.

“Not at all. I honestly suspected, but hadn’t given it much thought.” Bond figured that with the other man’s confession and bristly defences up, it might ease him to get a little confidence in return.

“To be completely honest with you, I have been involved with men before. It helps to be flexible in this profession, but it was never for anything serious. Though…every once in a while, something other than a married woman catches my interest.” The characteristic grin that spread across the older man’s features met a wide-eyed look from the floppy haired boffin.

“You…really? You’re known as such a womanizer, I never would have guessed.” Bond had been right, the Quartermaster’s nerves were quickly lulled back into a sense of security.

“Yes, well, you might find yourself hard pressed to get someone at work to believe you if you’re as keen to gossip as Moneypenny. It’s not something I generally volunteer at company meetings.” Bond had a way of talking about MI6 as if it were nothing more than a higher end office job when in public. The brunette had a good laugh at the idea of his rugged partner announcing his sexual escapades at a meeting with MI6’s higher echelon. Bond joined in the laughter with a pleasant chuckle before steering them both towards a food truck at the side of the road. 

Q had been expecting James to lead them to some kind of fancy French cuisine place, but here they were ordering what were apparently the best shrimp tacos in town. Bond pointed at the sign that proclaimed so.

“I come here when I can, they aren’t kidding about the shrimp tacos.” Q gave him a look and seemed to be holding back his words. “If you’re wondering about the quality, I assure you it’s as good as any four star I’ve had the pleasure of dining at. I get a little tired of the pretentious sort sometimes. I play their games on the job, but it’s nice to eat in peace and comfort from time to time.” 

Q wasn’t sure what to say to that, he’d spent the majority of his life patronizing chip trucks, it had only been since joining MI6 that he had the kind of income that would allow for the types of establishments he saw Bond frequenting on missions. There was this thing called cultural capital though, the learned understanding of social etiquette at various levels, handed down by parents and life experience, that Q didn’t quite have. Basically, he stuck out like a sore thumb. So spicy Korean instant noodles and chip trucks it would still be. 

The two of them crossed the street to the adjacent park and took a seat on a near by bench, surrounded by a plethora of foliage and jaunty midday joggers. After a good amount of their stomachs had been filled, James ventured back into conversational territory.

“So, tell me Q, have you had a boyfriend recently then?” Bond was making the mistake of assuming his partner’s earlier discomfort had been a result of his reluctance to admit his sexuality to a man who seemed to personify the masculine ideal. That wasn’t the case, and it was clear in how stiff the Quartermaster went a second time. He took a moment, but then finished chewing. 

“No…” There was a tension that was nearly palpable in the answer and it concerned Bond, he was certainly missing something here and there was more than a few alarms going off saying he needed to pay attention. It might have to do with the documents he’d spent the morning flipping through.

“My last…relationship…didn’t end…” There was extreme hesitance in everything the curly haired man was saying and he appeared to be struggling heavily with how to phrase each piece of information. “…well. So I decided dating just wasn’t for me any more.” He rushed out the last sentence and immediately shoved nearly half a taco in his mouth. Bond made note of the strange reaction and wondered briefly if perhaps Q had been in an abusive relationship, or maybe with some kind of criminal. That could explain what he’d read earlier. 

“That’s too bad, you would be a fine catch, Quartermaster.” He gave it a lighthearted flare and twist of his chin before taking a bite of his own lunch. It did its job of derailing the questionable train of thought that had gripped the young genius. He quickly caught his flustered reaction and cleared his throat, getting his well-composed expression back in place. 

“You had better not be getting any funny ideas about teasing me now that you know I’m gay. I have no interest in workplace relationships, Bond.” He realized that was a rather bold statement, but he wanted to get some ground back by seeing if he could take his partner off guard in much the same way. Bond smiled, glad that he’d managed to bring the Quartermaster out of his odd mental state.

“Oh, don’t worry, Q. That isn’t my intent. I’m not one for them either.” He felt rather good about how this lunch had played out. The last time Bond had a good chat with the Quartermaster it had resulted in him feeling surprisingly out of his depth. He wasn’t about to share with Q exactly why he was so interested in him, which meant he might be able to find out more without too much resistance.

“I can think of a few women who might think otherwise.” The engineer raised a dark brow, lips tightly pressed together in judgment. The agent lifted his face and made a little show of looking around innocently.

“You aren’t fooling anyone James. I swear you’re more trouble than you’re worth some days.” Q sighed heavily and finished off his shrimp taco.

Though James didn’t answer, the thought ‘You have no idea’ certainly crossed his mind, along with, ‘You’ll find out just how much trouble I can be soon enough.’ It was a silent and very unwanted promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think in the comments and I'll do my best to update frequently. :]


	3. Unassuming Blue Tub

Though his lunch with Q a few days before had been very helpful in answering some necessary questions, James was not even slightly satisfied with the amount of knowledge he had after he’d been hunting for so long. It was surprisingly challenging, and he loved it. Of course, Q wouldn’t, if he knew.

 

James had recently nicked an interesting little gadget from Q’s workshop that, through a bit of testing, he’d discovered was somewhat of an all in one infiltration Swiss Army knife. He didn’t think the Swiss Army bit was particularly inventive, but what it could do certainly was. He’d tried breaking into one of his own dummy flats with the device and was unpleasantly surprised by how easily it picked his lock and got past the security codes. On the bright side, it had brought an idea to mind.

 

Once again, James was riding on the hope that some people were not as thorough at their jobs as they should be, while others were, and somewhere along the trail, the cleanup crew had missed a spot. Instead of traversing the forests of paperwork in MI6, this time he was headed to the local police precinct.

 

He was clad in a refined suit that was a bit more business casual than is regular attire, consisting of a dark grey blazer with matching trousers that were accented nicely by a navy tie with a subtle diamond design of nearly the same hue. The only people who gave him a glance were those who took interest in him from a purely admiring standpoint. No one suspected a man in a suit of break and enter.

 

He tucked into an alley alongside the timeworn stone building and headed to the side door where officers would enter from the parking garage near by. He retrieved the utility knife (that wasn’t exactly a utility knife) from his pocket, and acted as if he were just looking for the correct key on a dongle. James then pressed it to the lock as if it were indeed an elusive key. A few moments later, the door was open and he stepped right in.

 

It was one of those hours where you were never sure whether to call it early morning, or late night, so the skeleton crew was all that the station had on hand while officers were either at home, or out watching the streets. It wasn’t exactly difficult to dodge into a bathroom along the way to avoid a sleepy young fellow on his way to the break room. James meant no harm to them, so he’d do his best to come and go unnoticed.

 

Barely a minute after leaving the loo, he arrived at his destination, which was lucky because he hadn’t actually done quite as much research on the building as he should of, and simply read the door plaque that said, “Monica Hameed: Records and Evidence”. That was a name he _had_ looked up. She was the person who took care of making sure the proper paperwork ended up with the right evidence as cases came through. From what he’d heard, she was very good at her job.

 

He pulled out the fake knife for a second time and pressed the necessary button before placing it snug against the keyhole, a moment later, it clicked. He glanced down the hall and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room was not very big and sparsely dressed, which he assumed was because the open door behind the desk led to a much larger storage area where he caught a glimpse of metal shelves with dozens upon dozens of plastic, labeled containers. The wall next to the door was covered in a swirling pattern of coloured light as the dark room allowed a screen saver to reflect on it. He made his way behind the desk and took Monica’s seat, waking the computer up and flipping through the various extensions of his unconventional Swiss Army knife. James then popped it into the appropriate port on the computer and sat back as it got in quickly. He would have to tell Q this toy worked very well, if he returned it.

 

Once he was on the desktop, Monica had left the database open that she used every day to organize what came in and what left, so it wasn’t even necessary to try and decode anything. As basic a solution as it was to his problem of finding the correct files, he used the search bar. He didn’t have any names, but he did have a date from the files at MI6, and that was almost better. A few moments later, he had access to everything that had been entered on and around that time.

 

Very suddenly, he was hit with a realization. Why hadn’t be looked up the newspapers from that time yet? It was such a simple thing and it had completely slipped his mind. He’d been so caught up in the difficulty of finding out things about Q’s past that the easiest of answers hadn’t even dawned on him. He would absolutely have to do that after he finished here.

 

Bringing his mind back on track with what he’d been doing, James started scrolling through the list of cases and came upon one that looked remarkably similar to the files at MI6, in that it was missing a few pieces of important information. He clicked it and within a few seconds, knew he’d found what he was looking for.

 

A cursory glance through the contents showed that, while certain tidbits might be missing, ones that had been removed from MI6 were present. Perhaps most importantly, was the name Alistair Turner in the row labeled “Victim”. The file stated it was a cold case that had been dropped many years ago. James’ brow furrowed above the thick bridge of his nose as he noticed the “Accused” row did not have a name, and yet the file clearly indicated some kind of incredibly unsettling murder, the details of which were not present. However, near the bottom of the page, there was a six-digit number next to the words: “Evidence File”.

 

James got up and used his widest gate to stroll into the storage room, which was never intended for his entrance. He took a glance at the categories atop the shelving units and true to her reputation, Monica had done a good job organizing her department. It was only a few seconds later before he found the opaque blue container tucked away behind a much more recently moved one on the bottom shelf. He slid it out and pulled out the papers that were neatly tucked into a pouch that had been taped to the plastic lid. Instead of looking at it first, his anticipation got to him, and he pulled the cover off.

 

Looking down into the bin, his stomach twisted in a worse way than he’d thought possible on this silly personal mission of his. He’d expected this to be fun, and what the contents of this container told him, was that he had been naïve from the moment he realized murder was a part of Q’s past. James had always had odd ways of flirting with people, and now that he took a moment to consider things and reflect on the decision he’d made, he realized this was perhaps the most wrong he’d ever been in his approach.

 

Atop a collection of clear bags was a file folder made of the same transparent plastic. The image that sat against the inside of the cover was of a beautiful young man who was ghastly pale, and very clearly dead. He was curled into the fetal position and stuffed inside a heavy, old-fashioned trunk. It was obviously a crime scene photo and a second one that appeared to be a close-up of the dead man’s face peeked out from behind it, like something from an old nightmare of James’ he’d rather not be reminded of. He glanced down at the papers he’d put aside and finally took in what he was discovering, as well as why Q and MI6 might want this all shoved away into a dusty corner in an old storage closet where the light and feather dusters couldn’t reach it. The top page was a list of evidence and he gathered the paper gingerly into his hands, looking through its contents. The trunk wasn’t kept here; it was in a local warehouse they used for larger pieces of evidence, like cars or appliances, things that didn’t fit in neat little boxes. James knew he wouldn’t have wanted to see it anyway.

 

The list continued on to make note of things like a gimp mask and sex toys that were even too much for James. Another glance into the bin and a light shifting of the crime scene photos confirmed that was indeed what it enclosed.

 

James had been crouching until this point, and he finally took a seat on the floor, knees up and not caring if he got a bit of floor matter on his trousers. His expression was hard, contemplative. Though the evidence told him so much, there were still incredibly significant parts of information missing and for the first time in his hunt he was actually convinced he should stop looking. However…he felt motivated by something entirely different now.

 

While before, he had wanted to know more about Q for the simple pleasure of irritating him and feeling the joy of having information that others didn’t, now he wanted to know how someone like Q had gone through this and ended up where he was. He wanted to understand, to gain empathy, which was not something he often sought to do. What had happened? Why had it resulted in MI6 destroying all trace of Q’s involvement, and who was this Alistair to him?

 

This seemed tragic, and James had an ache inside him that stemmed from the belief that Q may very well have no one in his life that knew this was a part of it. Maybe even knew that Alistair was a part of it. While he might have chosen to remain alone with the knowledge of his life, James knew all too well the loneliness that came with that decision.

 

At one point, he had internally questioned if Q could have been the murderer in this whole thing, but James’ intuition said no. This wasn’t something Q would have done. He just knew that.

 

He shuffled hesitantly through the container’s unsettling catalogue of the murder of Alistair Turner. A collection of soiled bed sheets were squished into the bottom and at that point James decided he was done with this. He put everything back the way it once was and placed the unassuming blue tub back in its place, followed by it’s just as showy partner in front. James stood up, but his eyes stared down at the point where the bin was hidden behind its brothers. He considered how quickly he’d hit the jagged wall of the rabbit hole he’d been tumbling down since choosing to pursue Q’s past. It didn’t make him feel good, but he needed to take some time to think about the new information he’d gathered. It was time he headed home, had a nice stiff drink, and took a hot shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this, I haven't abandoned this fic, life just became unreasonably busy. I'm going to do my best to get chapters out more regularly, and hope you enjoy this. James has a lot of thinking to do.

**Author's Note:**

> A slow start, but Bond's got his self-assigned mission now. Lets see how far he goes~ Please let me know what you think!


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